"I didn't come here to play no games."
That was the last sentence to come from my mouth before drawing my burner and shooting the shit out of that Arby's. Loud-mouth employees, the partially balding manager with the pear body, harmless folks, simply trying to enjoy their food: NO MERCY
Everyboy faced my wrath that day. I said I wasn't playin no games. "Sorry, uh, we don't have curly fries right now."
Bitch I know you lyin'. I know very well not to trust any broad with braces. As a matter of fact, that dog was borderline "adult braces." I get shivers down my spine just thinking about it. Come to think of it, that just may have been the match that lit my fuse.
This whole charade could have easily been prevented had Olga not uttered a bold-faced lie straight to me. You can't claim that you're out of curly fries. It doesn't happen like that. The particular Arby's I was dining in actually happens to be grotesque, smelling of moldy beef and rotting infant carcasses. There are very few eaters in attendance in that Hell hole. I simply did not believe there was absolutely ZERO curly fries.
I don't take kindly to lies, or homely women with dental issues, and most importantly an absence of the delicious curly fry taste in my dining expereince - so I guess mass homicide in an Arby's was the only answer.
Situations like this are becoming far too frequent for me. Last week I was slapping elderly women with deli meats. The previous week I was dropping treadills off of an overpass. The things I do to satisfy my disturbing cravings are getting to the point of almost unruly.
Will they continue? I couldn't tell you. I will continue sharing my experiences, and right now I got a hankering for shooting urine out of a Super Soaker in T.J. Maxx.
-Skeet